


A Night to Remember

by shimere277



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimere277/pseuds/shimere277
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nautile's prompt: "St Thomas' Day 1571, a serious young gentleman, newly graduated from Cambridge, is elected Lord of Misrule for the 12 days of revelry during Christmastide at the Inner Temple, London."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nautile26](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nautile26).



            "An excellent portent, surely," said Leonard.

            But Thomas looked entirely glum at the whole prospect.  "Nay, my friend.  A trap."

            "Thomas!  Always so serious!  Thou has been given power to do thy will for twelve days entire.  This shall be great sport."

            "Great responsibility, Leonard.  The benchers will give me trouble if I go too far, the students if I go not far enough.  And our uninvited most especial guests from court will expect a royal entertainment.  If I provide it not, then shall my fate as a courtier be sealed before 'tis begun."

            It had been like this since the day they had met – Thomas so terribly serious, Leonard egging him on.  If Leonard had been blessed with Thomas' looks and Thomas' intellect – and had the financial security of the Doughtie household behind him – he would most certainly have more fun than Thomas seemed to.  Sometimes it was hard to tell that Leonard was the older of the pair by several years.  "Mayhap thou shalt be chosen, like Milord Hatton, singled out for especial favor for thy comeliness."

            At this, Thomas Doughtie laughed.  "Hardly, Leonard."

            "Come now, Thomas.  There is more to life than reading books.  I think the role of Lord of Misrule suits thee.  As do thy fellows.  'Tis rare for a new student to be so chosen."

            Thomas wheeled on his friend, stabbing the air in triumph.  "Sure proof that I have been conspired against.  For it is my head upon the block if I make a misstep."

            Vicarye slapped him on the back.  "No man lives forever, my friend.  Come now – perhaps some strong ale will prove stimulus for the imagination."

====================================================

            Leonard lacked the subtlety of intellect to understand the nuances of the situation.  Perhaps the spirit of the entire festival was best summed up by the traditional St. Thomas' Day debate.  At that time, it was always argued whether the Inn should celebrate the Christmas revels.  Of course, the celebration had already been going for four days, and the officers appointed on that day had been selected months in advance.  So it was with everything – the entertainments during the twelve days had to appear effortless, the product of a moment of the Lord of Misrule's whimsy.  In truth, all had to be most meticulously planned.

            Thomas began by making copious lists of what would need to be done for each of the twelve days and the customs which needed to be observed.  He then pulled the financial records from past years and interrogated the kitchen staff about the amount of food required.  Leonard was amazed – he had never thought of approaching the tasks so systematically.  He would simply have made his best guess.

            "To run short of victuals would be a disaster indeed," said Thomas.  "But it is not simply the abundance of the feast, nor of the kind of food provided.  There must be elaborate conceits – a feast for the eye – and the mind."

            "Methinks thou hast a talent for such arrangements.  But prithee that thy playful spirit matches thy deep deliberations when thou takest thy throne."

            Thomas understood what Leonard meant entirely.  If it wasn't bad enough that he was burdened with this enormous responsibility, he was supposed to be enjoying it.  The endless round of parties, plays, mummings, processions and feasts all contained this element of seriousness masked by fun.  The play for Twelfth Night, for example, had to be allegorical and instructive, and yet a raucous comedy.

            Technically speaking, during the twelve days of the festival he had absolute power over everyone at the Inn.  Practically speaking, no one would forget a damn thing he did, and there would most certainly be repercussions after the party was over.  And so he made a third inventory, one he kept secret even from Leonard: a list of "spontaneous" commands which would seem irreverent and merry and yet would cross no lines of irrevocably bad behavior.  It was Thomas' opinion that any man who left such decisions to the whim of an ale-soaked moment was a fool.

            Alas for the best laid plans of mice and men.  In all his careful preparation, Thomas had forgotten one simple premise: it is impossible to control the actions of others.  Even at the moment he was selecting the fabric for the costumes, on the other side of the city he was becoming involuntarily involved in an intrigue which would change his life forever.

====================================================

            "But how dost thou know that the Queen will even stop at the InnerTemple?  Grey's Inn hath also a prodigious celebration."

            "She will go, Ambrose," Robert Dudley said to his brother.  "Thinkest thou I know not that woman's mind after all these years?  She will go because Hatton will go."

            Ambrose Dudley sighed, walking over to the window and staring out at the rolling fields which stretched beyond London, browned by the cold and yet not dusted with snow.  A straightforward man, his brother's intriguing confounded him, and yet he most certainly recognized that Robert's machinations were responsible for his family's good estate.  Sometimes, however, he worried that those machinations would position them under the blade of the executioner's axe, in the fashion of their father.  "So what action lies in thy mind?"

            "I have lost too much ground this year, betwixt her majesty's dalliance with that oaf, Oxford, and my old foe William Cecil made Lord Burghley.  At least Cecil has the loveliness and grace of a bull mastiff, and thus while his council finds its way to my Queen's ears, it never yet touches her woman's heart.  But mark my words, brother, she looks most with favor 'pon the dancing fop.  And so, if I am e'er to take the throne, I must displace him."

            "Hatton is common, and no serious adversary, Robin.  Methinks that thy greatest rival for the hand of the Queen is her own taste to wield the royal fiat with no man to check her fancy."

            Dudley scowled.  Intelligent and a sure judge of men's motives, he knew this better than his brother ever could.  Still, he nursed his ambitions against hope.  In any case, he would not be humiliated publicly by her attentions to this glorified lawyer.  "I will disgrace him in her eyes, Ambrose, and I see no more sure way than these games, for that which is light of heart is most serious of intent.  Well I know that messages may be coded in allegory from the substance of a play to the meaning symbolical of the greens laid 'pon one's dinner plate.  But for this, we need but the seemingly innocent command of the Lord of Misrule.  The wrong suggestion, the wrong question will humiliate Hatton…"

            "But how knowest thou that such opportunity will arise?"

            "Such opportunities are _planned_, Ambrose.  I did arrange for the election of this man, Doughtie, knowing he is nothing.  A minor member of the gentry with some small amount of land behind him."

            "'Tis an old and honorable name."

            "There be branches of his family which rule in the country they rest in – but all are of the old religion.  Doughtie's father broke with them to take up the church of our sovereign.  And now Thomas Doughtie is but six and twenty, and the head of his house – with two sisters in need of a dowry, and a brother yet wet behind the ears.  He will cooperate with my designs, knowing advancement rests upon it."

            Ambrose was not so sure.  He still cherished the inconvenient belief that not all men were corruptible.  "And if not?"

            "What I ask will seem of little harm.  He may suspect I make a jest, but shall have no real reason to refuse what I should ask."  In truth, what Dudley would ask was a good bit more nefarious than serving the wrong salad, but Ambrose didn't need to know that yet.  Robert Dudley loved his brother dearly and thus was willing to forgive his one fatal flaw – an excess of honesty.  The same flaw, he reasoned, might be present in a gentleman whose character was unknown to him.  Far better to trust in yet another catspaw, one of great use to him lately in the Ridolfi affair – Captain Hawkins.  A pirate who would be a gentleman has few scruples whatever the task assigned to him.

            But for the present, it was better to distract Ambrose with a bit of minor spitefulness.  "Come, come, my brother.  We shall see to this Doughtie."

====================================================

            "I have not the time for such trifles, John.  I must see to the fitting of the _Pascoe_, for I would return to the Spanish Main as quick as I could have it."

            John Hawkins poured more wine into their goblets, thinking that his kinsman, a most talented mariner, had much to learn about life upon land.  "'Tis Christmastide, Francis.  And I have been summoned by special invitation of the Great Lord himself.  When such a man calls for thee, thine own interests are the trifles, for indeed his interests must needs become thine."

            Drake took the wine with some measure of annoyance.  "I wish thee well in thine advancement.  But the Earl of Leicester called not for me, and I would be about my business rather than undertake a journey to London for the purpose of playing at dice with a passel of lawyers."

            "There is a reason these things are called masques, for forms which seem but idle, empty shows are but the outer garment for some inner device.  Trust in me, Francis.  Have I not taught thee well in other things?  E'en shouldst thou do naught but watch, thou shalt be schooled in observation."

            Drake was headstrong, but the old allegiances, the old obediences won out.  If Hawkins wanted his company in London, Hawkins would have it.  It put him in a foul mood, however.  His absence from Plymouth would probably delay his new expedition to Panama until the late spring.

===================================================

            Leonard found Thomas brooding in the temple gardens.  "I did not see thee in court today, my friend, and well I know the excessive seriousness of thy studies.  Many of the students here take such things lightly, but not thee, Thomas, and so I do surmise that there is something of greater weight which troubles thee.  Indeed, thou art ashen in thy countenance."

            Doughtie handed Leonard a letter.  "I am summoned to audience with milord Leicester."

            Leonard laughed, clapping his friend on the back.  "See then!  Thou art sure chosen for advancement."

            "At what price, Len?  The lord's reputation precedes him.  Methinks he would demand of me some favor, and I dare not refuse it."

            "Aye, there are stories – as there are of all great men.  But how bad can it be?  I hardly think he will ask thee to do off with his inconvenient bride."

            Leonard's jest only served to deepen Doughtie's dread.  That he had murdered his wife was only the most outrageous of the many rumors surrounding Robert Dudley.  He was a powerful man, the Queen's favorite, and a most subtle manipulator.  No matter how he considered it, Thomas could imagine nothing good coming from the summons.

            "In any case, Leonard, it has a pull upon my purse.  I shall be expected to bring a present for the lord to mine audience.  Now what can I bring of suitable magnificence for such a personage?"

=====================================================

            The gift that Doughtie brought – a riding crop with the Dudley coat of arms embossed in gilt upon the handle, was both elegant and appropriate for the Master of Horse.  By this Dudley knew that Doughtie was not only thoughtful, but competent enough to arrange for the custom work on such short notice.  He hoped Doughtie would prove as tractable as he was courteous.  But then again, a gentleman in Doughtie's position couldn't afford not to be.

            "Knowest thou that I was once a student at the Inn, e'en as thyself?"

            "There is not a man in residence who does not take light from some of the reflected glory of our most illustrious predecessors," said Doughtie smoothly.

            Dudley raised an eyebrow.  That line was practiced.  Very good.  "So it is of great import to me that the Christmas revels be of suitable magnificence.  Especially this year.  I would our celebrations outshine Grey's Inn e'en as the sun outshines the moon."

            Doughtie visibly relaxed.  He was well prepared to go into excruciating detail about the preparations, if need be.  Leicester would not find his plans lacking.

            "It is, after all, our Queen whose eye must look with favor upon us."

            This Doughtie had expected also.  The Queen generally made a point of attending at least one of the twelve nights, usually the Christmas procession or the New Year's revel.

            "And there is one other small matter to which I would have thee attend."  At this, Doughtie heard the thunk of a second shoe dropping, and to his mind, it was weighty, like one of the Master of Horse's prodigious riding boots.  "When thou art set upon the throne on St. Thomas' Day, thou shalt attend to the entertainment of thy court with various conceits and jests and riddles.  There is a series of riddles I would have thee pose for the company.  First: What part of the face is of most import?  Second: What animal of husbandry is of the most noble nature?  And third: Of what material should a monarch build her throne?"

            "Excellent topics for debate, milord.  And I trust in a company of lawyers that there shall be no lack of the argument."

            "And when these questions are done, we shall have dancing."

            "As you will, milord."  Doughtie smiled dazzlingly and bowed with a flourish.  But underneath the surface, his thoughts were in turmoil.

=============================================

            "It seems a harmless enough game," said Leonard.  "'Tis but thy solemn nature which casts shadows before us."

            "The answers to the first two are simplicity: eyes and horse."

            "Although an argument can be made for the mouth," Leonard mused.  "Had we no mouth, we could not speak."

            "But a man could still write or gesture, and thus his fate is his own.  But a man with no eyes is forever dependent upon the charity of others.  No, Leonard, the conclusion…"

            "Or nose.  Man could not breathe without a nose.  His very life would be extinguished."

            "He can yet breathe through the offices of his mouth," said Doughtie, exasperated.  "Suffice it to say that the answers are neither 'lids' nor 'sheep.'"

            Vicarye looked at him curiously.  "Aye?"

            "It is well known that the Queen keeps names for her favorites," said Doughtie, explaining to Vicarye as if he were a child.  "Leicester is her 'eyes.'  He is also the Master of Horse.  Christopher Hatton she names her 'lids' and 'mutton.'"

            "Ah!" said Vicarye, understanding at last.  "So the questions are a petty bit of spite 'gainst a rival.  Not pretty, but surely no matter of great import."

            "'Tis the third question which vexes me," said Doughtie.  "Leicester practices malice 'gainst Hatton, and methinks it runs more deep than these bits of jesting."

            "Well, thou canst scarce refuse such a great lord and patron of the Inn," reasoned Leonard.  "These riddles are but trifles."

            "I cannot refuse," Doughtie decided.  "But there is something that I can do."

========================================================== 

            "Eight more days of this," Vicarye groaned.  "I will be dead by that time."

            "Overmuch wine, Leonard," said Doughtie, handing him a cup.  "This tincture of herbs should help to revive thee.  But drink soon, for there is much to make ready afore the celebration of this evening."  Doughtie's mood had improved considerably once the festival had gotten underway.  The procession on Christmas was a great success: no one would ever have anticipated Doughtie's recruitment of a hundred imps of London to play the parts of angels.  The children followed the train of lawyers, handing out confectionary stars with the words "Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, light of England" writ in sugar upon them.  Doughtie also knew that the Inn would have no use for the hundred tiny linen robes that he had commissioned, which, when stripped of the gilded wings and halos, became a most useful article of clothing for the children.  Indeed, they would be seen throughout the streets for years to come, albeit changing over time from white to grey or brown with the wear of years.

            "To me, there is one solace," said Doughtie as one of the Inn's butlers brought in a bundle of fabric.  "For this space, sumptuary laws do not apply to me."  The butler held out a robe for his perusal, purple velvet embroidered with the Doughtie crest in gold, and trimmed with the finest ermine.  He extended his arms to allow the butler to slip the robe over his shoulders, then posed in front of the glass, examining himself.

            "Aye, Thomas, thou art a man upon whom such finery is a fitting adornment.  If I were to sport such stuff, I would seem a court jester in a king's mantle."

            "Hast finished thy potion?  Quick, Leonard.  We must to the main hall, to see that it is made ready for the great debate."

====================================================

            "He is comely, this Lord of Misrule," said the Queen, tapping her fan.  "And most clever in his choice of entertainments."

            "I noticed not, your majesty," Hatton replied.  "But in this, as in all things, thou art the arbiter of what is good."

            Dudley thought he was going to be ill.  Hatton was both a simpering milksop and an idiot.  For his own part, he had most certainly noticed that Doughtie was attractive.  That the Queen had noticed it was another, more serious matter.  Well, Doughtie would have to be gotten out of London, then.  Perhaps he could suggest the gentleman's suitability as a retainer, in glowing terms, to the Earl of Essex.  He had the Queen almost convinced to ship Devereux off to Ireland – let Doughtie go with him.  Dudley could be rid of a potential rival whilst pretending to advocate for him – just as he had done for Essex.  The thought made him feel warm all over.

            The Queen was not the only one who had noticed Doughtie.  From the other side of the room, he had commanded the rapt attention of another.  "He is an impressive figure, this Lord of Misrule," said Drake.

            "Impressive indeed," Hawkins replied,  "to be given a completely free hand in whimsy, e'en if it only be for the celebration.  A bit frightening, however.  Misrule, the inversion of order, these may be sportive conceits in London, but at sea…"

            Drake raised an eyebrow.  "Indeed?  I have heard that such games are becoming the fashion upon the crossing of the equator."

            Hawkins frowned.  "Such innovations are not of my liking."

            Drake had to admit the idea that a common man could, for a space, be absolute ruler by whim attracted him.  But it was not simply the idea which caught his fancy; it was Doughtie himself.  There was about him such beauty, such grace, such poise, and yet it was all measured, calculated.  Drake thought if he studied Doughtie long enough, perhaps those secrets would be his.

            One of the butlers came to their table, leaned over, whispered something in Hawkins' ear.  "I shall return anon, Francis," he said.  "I have business I must attend."

            This was most curious.  Drake followed the pair with his eyes for a few seconds.  Then interest got the better of him, and he followed them in earnest.

====================================================

            "It is my decree that we shall have riddles, dancing and an allegorical masque.  After a banquet of sweets and gaming for those inclined."  Thomas waved his hand elegantly, making the velvet robe ripple just so in the candlelight.  He had practiced the gesture for hours in front of the glass, but not even Leonard knew that.  "And so I make my first query to the gentlemen of the Temple and to our esteemed assembly of guests – most particularly to Her Majesty, our glorious and lovely Queen, who shall have the decision of the fittest answer.  For though I rule here, her wisdom of rulership far outstrips mine."

            _Flatter both her figure and her intellect in one go_, thought Dudley.  _Ireland__ is too good for thy likes_.

            "The question is: Which organ of the face hath the greatest import?"  There followed a spirited debate along the lines of reasoning outlined by Vicarye, although the ears had a few advocates as well.  But as Thomas predicted, the strongest arguments were made for the eyes.

            Christopher Hatton stood.  "All are agreed as to the import of the eyes.  But a blind eye is useless.  If an eye cannot blink away the dust, or wash itself clean with tears, or shade itself from the merciless rays of the sun, then soon it sees not, and it cannot fulfill its function.  So respectfully, I suggest that the eyelid is of equal value as the eye, for 'twere it not upon the face, the eye would be of little benefit."

            The crowd clapped heartily at the cleverness and originality of his answer.  "Good for him!" whispered Vicarye to Doughtie.  "He proves himself most eloquent."

            The second question was posed.  The hound and the horse were the top contenders for the noblest of domestic animals.  But again, Hatton waited for the debate to die down before he spoke: "But nobility is no mere matter of show and splendor.  It can be concealed in the smallest, humblest of guises.  A sheep, for example.  It doth seem a creature most rude compared to a splendid stallion.  And yet this very holiday we celebrate should serve as reminder to us that the symbol of Christ Our Lord is the lamb, for indeed very God of very God did come into the most rude of all forms, that of a man, so that he might bless us all with eternal life.  That Lord chose neither hound nor horse for his token, and I submit to this fine company that his nobility is infinite.  And so dare we to dispute His wisdom in this debate, or shall we agree that the sheep, by virtue of its divine humility, is, in fact, the noblest creature of all?"

            The assembly rose to its feet, greeting with thunderous applause this astonishing piece of rhetoric.  "Milord Hatton proves himself a most profound philosopher of theology – and that most unexpected," said Vicarye suspiciously.  "Indeed, one would surmise that he spends the best part of his hours at liberty by study of the Bible – e'en as thou dost."

            But Doughtie was not happy.  "Milord Leicester hath not the seeming of a man whose game progresseth ill.  Look upon him, Leonard.  He smiles, and there is cruelty in it.  Mark my words - he waits for something.  He waits for the answer to the third question."

            Doughtie could not know that winning the riddling contest was of no importance to Leicester, who was prepared to give the winning answer himself, but just as happy if another man should give it.  He was almost certain that Hatton would win again, and that Doughtie, a man whose wit and sophistication far outstripped Hatton's, had prepared the answers in advance.  If it were so, then Hatton had been handed the rope to be used for his own hanging.  Doughtie, he was certain, would be most disgruntled by Hatton's downfall.  He would watch for it.  If he was correct, he would bear this slight in mind: Doughtie had chosen loyalty to a common fop over him.  And Dudley never forgot an insult.

====================================================

            "'Pay the Italian well, for it is upon his good graces that our fortunes rest,'" Hawkins read from the paper in his hand.  "'And if, as I have reason to expect, my estates increase from this, so shalt thine.'  It hath the ring of poison about it, but it proves naught."

            "Indeed," said the butler.  "But the context is the proof of it.  In thine hands, and if thou dost swear to her majesty that thou didst have this letter signed by Christopher Hatton from the hand of Roberto Rodolfi himself, it shall reek of treason most assuredly."

            Hidden behind a curtain, Drake reeled with shock.  He was still young, still naïve to this kind of intrigue.  It was foul to him, an unclean dealing not worthy of a man.  And yet, it was not his concern.  Hatton was nothing to him, Hawkins everything.  If Hawkins saw fit to do this thing, then Drake would support him.

            But Drake was no longer a ship's boy out of the Medway.  He was a man with his own command, and if he would have his way, he would be a gentleman.  Wasn't every English gentleman's first loyalty to his Queen?  Hatton was a trusted councilor.  His removal might not be a mere private vendetta.  It might open the door for others to gain access to her person, others less trustworthy.

            Drake was faced with a conundrum.  He could not come forth with the true story.  If he did, it would mean the doom of his relative and mentor.  But if he didn't, the treacherous plot would proceed.  There was only one answer – he had to get hold of that letter to destroy it.

            But try as he might, he could not think of a way.  Hawkins did not get to his station in life by being careless, and Drake was no pickpocket.  He was not about to assault his flesh and blood – he would never be forgiven.  And he doubted that confronting Hawkins would dissuade the senior privateer in the least – it would do nothing except convince him that Drake's loyalty was wanting.

            He had to get that letter – but he couldn't get that letter.  And then it occurred to him that there was one person who could, the one person whose word was law upon this occasion – the Lord of Misrule.

====================================================

            Doughtie was listening absently to the various answers proposed to his third riddle:  "Gold, for a kingdom is always in need of wealth."  "The strongest stone to be a bedrock to her kingdom."  "A mirrored glass, to reflect her glory to the eyes of men."

            Doughtie became aware that he was being watched.  On the periphery of the circle surrounding him, he noticed a man he had never seen before – an odd fellow, dressed in finery but not at ease in his raiment.  He possessed both a crudeness and an air of natural authority lacking in the more polished courtiers at the festival.  Doughtie liked that; it made his heart constrict within him.

            The man was trying to get his attention.  He beckoned, and Drake circled behind his throne, whispering something into his ear.  The feel of the Drake's hot breath against his neck made a surge of warmth go through him, but Drake's words chilled him to the bone.  "My kinsman Hawkins is being used as a pawn in some plot.  He hath in his possession a letter which will be used to accuse Master Hatton of some deed I know not what.  I prithee, get thee that letter."

            Doughtie nodded curtly.  He would make a show of it.  Then, if he decided the letter needed to be called to the Queen's attention, so be it.  But if, as was more likely, the letter was some scheme of Dudley's, it could be destroyed.  "Which one is Hawkins?" he whispered back.

            Hatton stood to deliver his – Doughtie's - answer to the challenge.  "There is but one substance meet for the throne of any ruler to be builded, and that is with the true hearts of her loyal subjects, without which any kingdom is sure to fall to ruin."

            Hawkins took a deep breath, stepped forward, brandishing the letter.  "How very true, your majesty…"

            But before he could finish, a dozen young boys dressed as pixies charged at him, pushing and pulling him to Doughtie's throne.  One grabbed the letter out of his hand.  "Give that back!" he protested.

            "There will be no proclamations in this court, save for mine own," said Doughtie, rising and flinging his ermine cape rakishly over his shoulder.  He gestured imposingly.  "Restrain him!"

            The children danced around Hawkins, wrapping him with holly boughs, screaming and laughing so loud that his attempts to explain went unheard.  At this Dudley, finally losing his composure, stood.  But as the flustered Hawkins was trundled off, Doughtie announced, "And now it is time for her majesty to judge of whom hath answered most elegantly."

            Red-faced, Dudley returned to his seat.  There was no way that he, or anyone present, even the Lord of Misrule, would dare to interrupt the Queen.

====================================================

            After the masque, a most successful allegory of Love's assaults upon Virtue, ending with their reconciliation through the intercession of Purity and Wisdom, Doughtie was able to pull Hatton aside while the rest of the company descended ravenously upon the banquet of sweets.  "Your counsel served me well, Master Doughtie," said Hatton.  "Would that you could also have aided me to dance with enough ability to trounce the dancing master hired by Dudley to shame me."

            Doughtie waved it off.  "The Queen thought it no great attainment for a dancer to dance.  For a lawyer to dance is a sign, however, of accomplishment."  He pulled the letter out of his sleeve and handed it to Hatton.  "But I must return this to you, milord.  I know not what malice that man Hawkins meant by it."

            Hatton creased his brow.  "How curious.  'Tis a letter I sent to my secretary, reminding him to pay what was owed to a goldsmith of Florence for a finely wrought jewel I presented to Her Majesty 'pon her last birthday.  Such things may seem insignificant, but as well you know, a man's fortunes may rest on gifts of courtesy, and 'tis folly to incur the enmity of a skillful craftsman."  He looked at Doughtie sheepishly.  "Upon reflection, the words take on a sinister coloring without knowledge of the spirit behind them."

            "Aye.  Innocent though the letter may be, I would destroy it."

            "I shall.  And Master Doughtie, if ever you seek preferment at court, I shall make a place for you."

            As time would tell, Hatton was as good as his word.  He wasn't the only one who would keep Doughtie's actions of that night in mind.  Robert Dudley was also a man with a long memory.

====================================================

            Drake could not help but laugh at Hawkins, who was sputtering mad and trussed up like a holiday bird.  "'Twas thee who didst insist I accompany thee to these revels for mine own edification," he said.  "I consider myself edified."

            This was more true than Hawkins knew.  Drake was a good pupil.  There was much about the customs of the upper class – their fine manners and foul treacheries – that he had learned and would not soon forget.  He had learned these strategies, vowing that he would have someday have opportunity to employ them.

====================================================

            "The evening's entertainment is most splendid," said Leonard, licking all the jam from the top of a tart.  "But wilt thou not indulge thyself in pleasure?  Anything thou wilt have is within thy scope for the course of the revels.  Waste not the opportunity, my friend."

            "I am happy simply to serve my fellows and make the Inn's favor to increase in the eyes of our queen," said Doughtie.  Even as he spoke, he knew he was lying.  The thing that he wanted he dare not order, not even as the Lord of Misrule.  He knew not even the man's name, but he could not forget the face, could not forget the sound of that low and dangerous voice in his ear.  Doughtie too would someday see the realization of his design, for he would win the love of Francis Drake.  Much later, he would come to understand that what began on that St. Thomas' Day would end in his martyrdom.

           


End file.
